


A Minor Inconvenience

by navigatorsghost



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One)
Genre: Begging, Dom/sub, Ghost Sex, Implied Main Character Death, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Present Tense, Rough Sex, Switching, Tactile Sexual Interfacing, Threesome - M/M/M, fine I'll do it myself then, not that it's stopped him, overload control/denial, why isn't there more fic for this ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-06 01:16:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15183530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navigatorsghost/pseuds/navigatorsghost
Summary: Galvatron's dead, at least temporarily. However, anyone who thinks that's going to interfere with him topping the hell out of his lieutenants has got another thing coming. Unicronian OT3 PWP, in which one of them happens to be a spark ghost at the moment. (Content/consent note: the sex in this fic is rough, intense, slightly weird and has some strong D/s elements, but is also a hundred percent consensual and welcomed by all participants. No abuse and no angst, I promise.)





	A Minor Inconvenience

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gemma_Inkyboots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemma_Inkyboots/gifts).



> This fic was born from an RP continuity in which my Galvatron muse got killed in an unfortunate "turned human" incident and was forced to come back as a spark ghost so he could stay in the plot. I originally started writing this as chatporn for Gemma_Inkyboots, so this final version is for her, too.

There are a great many hidden places on board the Unicronian warship _Dis_ , areas boxed in or closed off by bulkheads that separate them for one reason or another from the ship's nominally habitable spaces. Most of them are accessible with a little effort, as they often contain essential systems - like the massive power conduits that traverse the full length of the warship, inside which run cables as thick as a Sweep is tall. The conduits are dark and cold as the void of space; their curving ribbed walls gleam with a sheen of interstellar ice. And here on this occasion, with his back pressed against one of those cables, is Scourge: gasping and twitching as stray power shimmers in crackling washes over his wings, looking up wide-opticked into the face of his wingmate, who is pinning him effortlessly in place with a hand on his chest.

Cyclonus looks back at him and smiles cruelly before bending to kiss him, his other hand caressing the inside curve of Scourge's wing, making him twitch even more and make muffled little sounds that don't really appear to be a protest. The storm-surge of electricity plays over both of them, arcing from Scourge to Cyclonus as the last of the gap between their bodies disappears, crackling between the tines of Cyclonus's crest and dripping in sheets off his wings - but although he shudders he doesn't let go, and Scourge reaches up to wrap his arms around his friend and press razor-sharp claws into his back. Cyclonus bucks against him and arches into the rake of his nails with a muffled groan, lost in the sensory ravaging of electricity and cold and pain and pleasure, metal screaming on metal with a fierce passion that these two would never let themselves confess in mere words. Neither of them is paying any attention to what is going on around them, lost as they are in their own private universe, so if for a moment something even colder than interstellar space licks a tendril across Cyclonus's back, or if the light bends strangely around a fluid swirl of movement just beside them... well, who's to see?

//Cyc...// Scourge probably couldn't speak coherently out loud even if his mouth weren't occupied, but internal radio is easier, less effort to send over. He clings tighter, pressing close, and shivers for no reason he's entirely sure of.

//What, Scourge?//

There's so often a hint of mockery in the way Cyclonus speaks to him, even - _especially_ \- at moments like this, but Scourge knows that, expects it, likes it even. It's just part of who they are. //You _know_ what...// he answers, dazedly.

Cyclonus sighs at that, amused or just agreeing. //Yes...// He nuzzles at Scourge's mouth, and runs static-wreathed fingertips lightly down his chest. //More?//

//Please...!// Scourge wants to lean up into that maddeningly gentle touch, but the electromagnetic forces surrounding him seem to have temporarily glued him in place. He can't move from where he is, only struggle and shudder and look pleadingly at his friend. How is Cyclonus even doing this to him-?

And Cyclonus blinks and steps back. "Now how have you done that?" He gives Scourge a very, very amused look... and experimentally tugs on Scourge's wing, which stays stuck.

Scourge tenses in honest surprise, optics wide. "...I thought you'd set this up on purpose?" As he speaks, there's a swirl of cold air and a whisper of disembodied laughter beside him, unnoticed by either him or Cyclonus.

Cyclonus tilts his head, pretending to consider, actually mostly enjoying watching Scourge squirm. "Not my doing, but you look good like this. Perhaps I should leave you this way."

Scourge shudders, optics wide. "You wouldn't. No, I take that back, you _would_ , you-"

And that makes Cyclonus laugh out loud and take another threatening step back. "Choose your words carefully, Scourge. Or perhaps I really will leave you here!"

This is cruel. Scourge trembles, perplexed, skimming the edge of real fear now and still aching for his friend's touch. "Don't," he pleads, voice barely a whisper.

Cyclonus wouldn't, not really. But torturing Scourge is too easy... and he knows Scourge will enjoy the memories later, once they're done here and nothing too bad has really happened to him. He reaches out and traces a caress over Scourge's face, teasing, pulling his hand away when Scourge tries to lick at his fingers; he raises those fingers to his own lips instead, and idly licks them himself as though he can still taste his friend's energies on them.

And fate is playing games, it must be, because it's at exactly this moment that the electromagnetic phenomenon mysteriously desists. Which means that Scourge crashes to the floor, since right then nothing else was holding him up, least of all his own knees. " _Ow!_ "

Cyclonus jumps, startled. "Hah!" He looks down at Scourge, and... "No, don't get up."

Having someone's full weight drop on top of you is always strangely satisfying even when it knocks your gears out of alignment and bends your wings against the floor, and Scourge lets out a sharp little cry of shock and delight as Cyclonus descends on him. He pulls Cyclonus down for a fierce kiss and hooks one leg over the back of his knee, refusing to let go. For a moment, Scourge's thoughts are blissfully scattered to the winds.

And in the space left behind, there's an abrupt warning flare of an instinct he's learned to dread. He breaks the kiss, tense with sudden fear, and switches hastily back to radio. //Cyc, _we're not on our own._ //

Cyclonus feels a cold chill through his neural nets at those words. It doesn't occur to him to say _are you sure?_ \- Scourge is the Tracker, this is what he _does_ , and if he says something is there, then something is there. He raises his head, propping himself up and looking sharply around. "Who's there?! Show yourself or-"

"Or _what_ , Cyclonus?!"

And that voice is unmistakable even when its owner is invisible, and Cyclonus gasps in delight and collapses atop Scourge, half-stunned, half-laughing. "My lord!"

Scourge yelps, shocked and relieved and stricken with a whole new kind of nervous anticipation to replace the fear of a moment before. "Mighty one, I-!" He falters. "I really wish you wouldn't do that?"

Galvatron materialises out of the air, a shimmering light-sketch of his natural self wrought from nothing but spark energy and force of will, laughing as he kneels beside his lieutenants. "But why not," he demands innocently, "when the looks on your faces are such fun?!"

Cyclonus and Scourge look at each other and then at him, shamefaced, and Galvatron looks back from one to the other of them with a wicked grin. "Well, don't mind the dead mechanism! Pretend I'm not here..." He fades to invisibility again, but there's an electric tension left behind in the air that even Cyclonus can feel and that's making Scourge's finely-tuned sensornets quiver all over. He's _so_ not gone.

Which leaves Scourge and Cyclonus to exchange a speaking look - _that was an order, wasn't it?_ \- before Cyclonus sighs and bends his head to kiss Scourge again, not that that's such a hardship. As their mouths meet, Scourge jumps as something icy-cold brushes through the nonexistent space between their lips. //What was that?//

//I think we're being played with, Scourge,// Cyclonus murmurs in reply, as he slips his glossa into his friend's mouth and shivers at an unexplained cold tingle down his back. //I wouldn't complain if I were you.//

Scourge shudders. //Complain? Me? Never...// ...not even when a strangely _focused_ chill dips its way under his armour and starts probing at the circuitry hidden beneath his chestplate, sending icy shocks through sensitive metal. He startles and whimpers and presses against Cyclonus, who feels deliciously warm by contrast. //Oh, hells...!//

But that wandering chill isn't leaving Cyclonus in peace either. A single slick, snaking line of pure cold traces its way up his back, leaving ice on metal and frost-webs on his cockpit glass, and he shivers violently, moaning; then lets out a sound that's closer to a scream when the sensation slides straight through his plating and into the systems beneath, teasing at his nav controls and the slave-circuits that _shouldn't even be accessible in his root mode oh stars-!_

Scourge jumps, staring up at his friend. "Are you - what the hells?!" That... had sounded like something fairly important breaking. Possibly Cyclonus's mind.

Cyclonus goes limp, shaking, sucking air hard through his intakes as his engines almost stall out altogether and then race to compensate. "I'm all right... I... _oh..._ " He moans, breathless to the point of near-laughter. "I think I'm going to be a while getting used to this," he confesses, and then jumps at another silk-and-ice caress somewhere deep inside his flight systems. "Oh... _Galvatron...!_ "

Scourge whimpers, biting his lip, wondering why it's always so painfully delicious to hear either of his triadmates say the other's name. He presses himself against Cyclonus, willing to share but wanting to be included, his voice a whisper almost too quiet to even be heard. "What about me...?"

 _What about you?_ he hears in his audial, in a voice that he isn't sure exists. Pure interstellar cold drips and twines itself sensuously into his core systems, making him cry out in startled, shivering pleasure and pain as he arches up against something that isn't wholly _there_. He turns his head, looking for something he knows even he has no hope of seeing, wishing Galvatron would just reappear already and be solid enough to kiss and clutch at and worship and surrender to and everything else that their lord deserves from them both-!

Sadly, with the best - or worst - intentions in the galaxy Galvatron can't manage "solid", given that he's currently a disenframed spark. It's a testament to the force of his will and personality that in this state he's capable of achieving even _visible_ and _coherent_. What he can definitely manage though is _this_ , his touch sliding teasingly into places Scourge never expected _anyone_ to touch him, and Scourge yelps and writhes at how _wrong_ and how shamefully good it feels. He'd call it a violation except that this is _Galvatron_ , and if anyone has the right to crack him open and put their fingers in places fingers aren't supposed to go... not to mention that he's now understanding exactly why Cyclonus reacted like he did a moment ago. _Oh..._

Cyclonus pulls Scourge close, pressing the two of them together, grounding them against each other; Scourge clings to him, grateful for the contact and the solidity and the leashed thermonuclear heat radiating from under Cyclonus's plating in counterpoint to the chill of Galvatron's aetheric caresses. "I can't stand this," he whispers desperately against Cyclonus's audial, stretching up to nuzzle pleadingly at the side of his friend's helm, "I _can't_..."

"You can," Cyclonus tells him, turning his head to nuzzle in return, and there's comfort in his touch but no mercy in his tone and _what else was Scourge expecting_ from Galvatron's loyal enforcer, really? " _Take it,_ Scourge..."

...and that was an _order_ , wasn't it, and Scourge shivers and flinches at the lightning-shock of pleasure and shame and desire that he always gets when Cyclonus uses _that_ voice when they're doing _this_. "You might... _mmhhh_ ... have to make me," he manages, and Cyclonus laughs raggedly and then kisses him hard and _shoves_ him back down against the floor again, pinning Scourge with his weight and his hands and a knee to his thigh. Scourge yelps, muffled, and sucks on Cyclonus's glossa; Cyclonus licks right to the back of his throat in response, nailing him in place with that one small sweet act of domination as all of Scourge's motor control evaporates at once. //Cyc-!//

//I have you,// Cyclonus murmurs, finally unbending enough to be actually comforting, and under the combined influence of that and Galvatron's presence and touch arcing in frostbite shivers through his systems, Scourge gives in. His back arches helplessly, his whole frame tensing and his wings skidding and scraping against the metal beneath him as he shudders into overload; firewalls and defences not so much dropping as disintegrating, his aura flashing over with heat and pleasure and a release so intense it hurts. " _Nnh-!_ "

And Cyclonus shudders with him, the sudden slam of resonance and released energy through a full-body contact playing delicious havoc with his own systems, yanking him to the edge as he in turn tenses and shivers in readiness-

_Don't._

-and Galvatron, still invisible and locatable only by the thrill of cold that traces down Cyclonus's left side, stops him dead with a single whispered word. Cyclonus snaps on overrides, shunting excess power to every capacitor bank he has just to get it out of the way, gears locking and struts almost cracking as he fights his own body and circuitry and instincts. His back arches, a high-pitched cry of something too intense to even be called pain escaping him, and he's shaking as though all his gyros suddenly unbalanced at once but he _pulls back_ from halfway over the edge of overload and keeps himself there, gasping, desperation warring with devotion in his expression as he looks around as though Galvatron might have suddenly become visible again. "Oh - Galvatron, _my lord, please...!_ "

Scourge, sprawled limp and half-conscious with every sensor tingling with ecstatic aftershocks, looks up at his wingmate in flat-out awe. How was that even _possible?_

 _Well done,_ Galvatron murmurs in his lieutenant's audial, and as far as Cyclonus is concerned anything in the universe is possible if it will put that note of gratification and pleasure and _pride_ in Galvatron's voice. He shudders, wanting to melt into Galvatron's touch and too tense to physically manage it, engines racing, overworked fans standing in for the whine of pure need that he's too proud to give voice to.

And then Galvatron's immaterial fingertips slide under Cyclonus's plating again, reaching deep into his circuitry, and Cyclonus whimpers and arches up for him in absolute surrender. His sensors are glitching out so hard that he's static-blind and losing his perceptions of everything from light to gravity, his engines are desynchronising, his diagnostics are streaming redline and overheating warnings faster than he can process them - and all of it is no more than background noise, nothing compared to Galvatron's touch and Galvatron's will, and it feels so good he wants to _die_ like this. " _Nngh_ \- oh, _Galvatron_ , yes, my lord, please, _please-!_ "

_There, Cyclonus, I know you can take this..._

Of course, if Galvatron chose, he could simply transmit their private passcodes and lock out Cyclonus's control of his own body, conscious and autonomous alike. Unicron installed the hardware and code to make that possible, on the assumption that Cyclonus would need to be governable to the last degree. But while Galvatron does use those overrides on occasion, Cyclonus prides himself on not _needing_ them. Whatever his lord demands, however it may strain the bounds of capacity or credulity, let him do it freely or burn something out trying.

"Your will, mighty Galvatron," he manages, and his voice is a shaking static-choked gasp but he _means it_ and he clenches every cable and circuit to hold on and endure this and _enjoy_ this for as long as Galvatron desires him to...

...it feels _so good_. It's not just the sensation, not just the star-cold burn that's tracing the delicate circuitry of systems that were never designed to see the light of day and that consequently lack all the heavyweight shielding and power-flow stabilisers built into his outer layers of armour. It's not just the fact that he's already force-bypassed one overload and his capacitor banks are spitting sparks and fusing connectors with the effort of holding that much charge in reserve. It's not just the heat and the strain and the _danger_ of massive nuclear turbines spinning on the verge of a meltdown that would probably blow a hole in the _ship_ let alone in him, given that they're right in the _Dis'_ spinal power conduit. All of those things, yes, _yes_ \- but more than anything else, it's the spark-deep fulfilment and bliss of giving everything he has to the one he was made for and knowing that this isn't chance or incidental, this is Galvatron knowingly and deliberately _commanding_ him to do it.

It's the pride he feels at being able to take all of this without offering even unconscious resistance, without protest, without failing his liegelord in body, mind or spark. It's the almost shameful delight of being _known_ so utterly and intimately, of accepting that Galvatron is supremely aware of his frame's limits and has the will and the _power_ to push him to the very edge of those limits without truly breaking him. It's feeling that he's _worth_ this much of his lord's attention and power and focus, and feeling Galvatron's pleasure and approval and delight-in-dominance spilling back through his own systems as resonance-echoes - muted this time, with Galvatron disenframed as he is, but still _there_ and Cyclonus turns up the gain on every sensor array he has to soak up every last drop of it. It's the joy of understanding that this torture is a reward and not a punishment, that if he were any less than he is he wouldn't be worthy of this because he wouldn't be able to withstand it, and that this, all of it, is only bestowed because _Galvatron trusts him..._

...and _that_ thought sends a shock of gratitude and worship and want and sheer ecstasy through him that comes within a couple of degrees of physically melting the capacitor interlocks that are holding his overload at bay, and _no_ , he won't let his mind _or_ his frame betray him, betray Galvatron-! He can hear himself crying out in shameless desperation but Galvatron hasn't told him he can't do _that_ and so he doesn't try to stop himself, instead letting everything he feels spill over into broken words and pleas of adoration. _Yes my lord yes use me take me command me destroy me I'm yours and you are everything please **Galvatron-!**_

_Cyclonus..._

And that's Galvatron's ghost "voice" right by his audial again, and with only the slightest stretch of his imagination he can almost feel his lord's powerful frame pressed against his own and Galvatron's hands on his plating and he's _breaking_ with how much he wants this. "My lord...?!"

 _Well done, enough... overload for me, Cyclonus!_ \- and as though he might need any _help_ with that, Galvatron's freezing touch dips through his systems and _right into his laser core_ , caressing the faceted crystal that anchors spark to frame in what has to be the ultimate act of domination. And with a gasp of desperate relief Cyclonus lets go of everything he's been holding onto, interlocks giving way and power shunts rerouting, _surrendering_ with everything he has and is. For a moment he's flashblind with the silver flare of his own aura as his overtaxed systems all but detonate in pleasure and release and enough static charge that a lesser mechanism would probably have fried their own processors, only half aware that he's screaming Galvatron's name all over again.

And slightly more aware of Scourge letting out a muffled squeak of shock and pleasure as the surge of released energy kicks him into a secondary overload whether he wanted it or not. Under normal circumstances Cyclonus's overload energy would have been soaked up by Galvatron's systems, the monstrous capacitor arrays that feed the great plasma cannon ever-greedy for any extra power they can grab; but with Galvatron rendered down to pure spark that option isn't there, and Cyclonus realises belatedly that he's unintentionally earthed most of his release through Scourge instead. Not, to judge by Scourge's whimpers and the sudden puncturing of his claws into Cyclonus's plating, that the tracker is protesting.

Cyclonus gasps, cycling air through vents that have finally stopped trying to hitch themselves closed. He reboots his optics, and allows his body to go limp as his dazed internal diagnostics sort through the residual pleasure-feedback and begin to ascertain how many relays he's broken. He's conscious of Scourge reaching up to cling to him, and without really thinking about it he holds his wingmate close in reassurance; Galvatron's spark-presence is a void-cold shimmer of energy curled beside the two of them, radiating approving satisfaction, and that's all the permission Cyclonus needs to finally let himself relax completely. _My lord, thank you..._

"That looked incredible," Scourge tells him with disarming if stunned honesty, looking up at him wide-opticked. "Are you all right?"

His self-repair systems aren't so sure about that, but Cyclonus himself is. "Of course," he begins and then crooks a ragged smile, surprised at the unexpected huskiness in his own voice. "How could I not be?"

Scourge nods understanding - and then blinks, groans and lets his head thud dizzily back against the deckplates beneath him. Cyclonus looks at him in momentary surprise, then stops trying to keep his own head up and just curls up on top of his friend, because yes, Scourge almost certainly has the right idea there.

And beside him he can hear Galvatron laughing softly, _delightedly_ at both of them, and right now he doesn't give a damn about anything else in the galaxy than this.


End file.
